


these hearts adore

by juncheol



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups is Whipped, Enamored Railing!! How Cute, Enlistment, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Reunions, This fic is an homage to Jun's thighs and Seungcheol's speedhunters hoodie, i did not go into this planning for jun to want to film a sex tape okay, wen "i deserve to have my ass ate" junhui
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juncheol/pseuds/juncheol
Summary: Seungcheol blinks, hands stilling on Junhui's thigh.Hang on."Is that— Are you wearing my hoodie?"
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Wen Jun Hui | Jun
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	these hearts adore

**Author's Note:**

> i don't... *gestures vaguely* i don't know.
> 
> title's from sweather weather by the neighborhood (i prefer max and alyson stoner's cover because they sing with a certain... tenderness? gentleness? that i really love).

There is a comfort in seeing that Joshua hasn’t changed. He told Seungcheol he wouldn’t be here, always answering with a thumbs up emoji and _no worries, hyung, no surprises,_ but of course he would still show up. Scheming is second nature to him, what makes getting along with him and Jeonghan so easy. He hasn’t hasn’t changed much physically, either—his hair’s longer now, a shaggy brown that’s starting to curl around his ears, and his frame is more defined. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, age and humor mixing like milk and honey.

“Nice cut,” Joshua says, nodding at Seungcheol’s hair as he opens the trunk of his car.

Seungcheol runs a hand through what he can, fingers scratching at the buzzed off strands on his nape. He never really grew used to the cold on his ears. “You said you wouldn’t come.”

“Hannie and I made a deal that we would be the first to congratulate you once you were discharged. Thought you could use some old faces.” Joshua takes his duffle bag from him and tosses it into the trunk in one fluid motion. “He’s expecting us to call him in seven minutes, by the way. Got permission from his supervisor and everything, so you better wait before you go texting anyone that you’re out.”

He’s not mad. Not in the slightest. Maybe a part of him knew Joshua would show, maybe even hoped for it. Things change—things have _already_ changed; time stands still for no one, creasing and warping and dipping, and now Seungcheol has to pull himself from its depths and learn to breathe again—and people change but familiarity is good for adjusting, a warm hug for a frozen body.

“You didn’t tell the others, though, right?” He asks. This is a welcome surprise, but Seungcheol had a reason for not wanting anyone to show up. If Joshua told the wrong person, if he told—

A soft smirk curls the edges of Joshua’s lips, gaze amused yet piercing. “He doesn’t know. Figured you wanted the honors for that one.”

Seungcheol notes the glint in his eyes. “But you still want me to talk to Jeonghan first.”

Joshua beams shamelessly. It takes Seungcheol a second to realize how much he’s missed this. “You know me well.”

:::

The radio plays songs Seungcheol doesn’t recognize. Joshua bobs his head to each one, fingers deftly tapping on the worn leather of the steering wheel as he hums under his breath. Seungcheol focuses on Joshua’s voice as he scrolls through his contacts, favorites listed at the very top.

It’s six in the morning so Junhui’s probably still sleeping. For a second, Seungcheol can picture him so clearly—eyes fluttering as his bangs brush against his skin, an arm curled around a pillow, feet peeking out from underneath the pale blue sheets, back facing the window and casting his body in shadows over sharp lines. Junhui would leave half of the bed cold and empty, palm open on that side of the mattress, fingers twitching. If Seungcheol closes his eyes, he thinks he could even hear Junhui’s soft snores.

A different song starts playing, bright and cheery from the first beat. Joshua sings a little louder and Seungcheol lets it wash over him, bones shaking with an ancient weight as he stares at the contact photo he has of Junhui cupping the sun in his hands, gold on his fingertips and starlight in his eyes.

:::

Seungcheol waits until Joshua goes to refill the gas tank before texting Yixing. Barely one minute has passed when he hears his phone ringing and he answers seconds later.

“Hello?”

“You’ve been discharged?” Static warps Yixing’s voice, scratching the question at the end. He might be whispering. “Are you serious? I thought Junhui said it would be another month!”

“Yeah, I just got out a few hours ago. A friend’s driving me back.” Seungcheol glances out the window. Joshua’s still trying to get the pump to read his card, mouthing what Seungcheol assumes to be curses. He bites down a smile. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“That’s great! Congratu— Oh, hang on—” Yixing yells something distantly, words muffled. Seungcheol catches enough of it to know its Mandarin, and a heavy ache forms in him, jagged stones pressing against his lungs.

It’s been a long time since anyone has spoken to him in that language, _good morning_ mumbled in between sleepy kisses, hands in his hair, body pressed against his, real and—and _there_. An animal whines inside of him, wounded and desperate.

“Sorry about that,” Yixing says a few moments later. “Junhui couldn’t find his gloves. Anyways, I’m glad you’re out! How are you?”

“Fine, good. I—” Seungcheol freezes. “Is he there?”

“Ah, no, sorry, he just ran out. He’s about to start skating. But— I can call him over, hang on.”

“No, no, no. Don’t get him, it’s fine.” It’s not fine, it’s two years of sparse phone calls and single cots and sleepless nights—it’s anything but fine. He’s so close now. It’s torture. “But I do need a favor.”

:::

Joshua doesn’t look surprised when Seungcheol tells him to drop him off at the rink. A part of Seungcheol thinks he was already planning on leaving him there. He doesn’t bother to ask.

Yixing’s outside waiting for him. He greets Seungcheol with a warm embrace, hands squeezing his shoulders as he examines him. “You look like hell. Good hell, but hell.”

Seungcheol laughs, light and flustered. He tugs his beanie lower until it nearly touches his eyebrows. “There’s a good hell?”

“Of course, you never went drinking on a school night in college?” Yixing quickly leads him in. Nothing seems to have changed inside, from the wall decorations to the sweet owner that greets them when they pass her. The cold air stings Seungcheol’s throat, a constricting burn that makes him swallow around nothing. He welcomes it all the same. “I’ll wait by the entrance, then?”

“Yeah.” There is an earthquake in Seungcheol’s rib cage, bones shifting and crashing together. Each step closer sends a new tremor up his spine and he’s suddenly light-headed, helium filling his lungs once he’s close enough to see someone skating across the ice.

:::

Junhui jumps into a double axel and lands in perfect form, graceful limbs extending to carry him up into a triple set like it’s nothing.

(It’s not nothing—Seungcheol has stopped counting the number of times Junhui has come home with bruises of all sizes on his body, hardly able to walk from the ache of slamming into the unforgiving ice and skating for hours on end without rest, mind left behind on the rink where he’s still beating himself up over the smallest inconsistency in his routine.

Perfectionism is Junhui’s everything, a gift and a curse, a double-edged sword he holds to his own throat and calls his livelihood.)

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything to him, just leans onto the tempered glass barrier and watches. There’s a song playing on the sound system, and it's the first Seungcheol’s recognized all day. Mindy Quah is hard to forget; he’s heard Junhui sing _Crazy for You_ hundreds of times, always under his breath, always when he thinks Seungcheol isn’t listening.

It makes him smile wide, seeing Junhui so focused on spinning in time with the resounding violins, body bending with each held note. Junhui looks great, all chiseled angles and mile-long legs that curve beautifully in the leggings he’s wearing. The animal in his head is back again, crying at the sight of Junhui and begging to get closer, _closer, he’s right there, he is right there and you are doing nothing._

And for a moment, Seungcheol really considers stepping on the ice and making his way over, polarity a force he has never been able to deny when it is an incessant pull in his gut, an impossible to reach itch. It’s years—god, it’s been _years_ —of waiting, weighted promises held in the palm of his hand now crystallized for the world to see. Junhui finishes his routine with a final leap, toe pick sinking into the ice with a sound like gunfire and he’s smiling, boxy grin and heaving chest, and it hits Seungcheol like a bullet—instant and debilitating.

It’s a little silly, falling in love all over again, but comforting in its ease, almost like muscle memory.

Junhui is panting when he turns around—and then he’s frozen.

“Seungcheol,” he says. It’s as if he’s been snapped awake, realization dawning on him as his eyes suddenly widen and tremble.

 _Did you dream of this, too?_ Seungcheol wants to ask. _Did you find a way to keep your heart beating?_ He breathes through his nose carefully, fingers twitching in his pockets. “Don’t fall.”

Junhui glances down at his skates. He’s dyed his hair again; the last time they talked, he said it was brown but now it’s a honey blond. The soft-looking strands are pulled away from his forehead with a band while the rest falls free to curl around his nape. Seungcheol wants to run his hands through it.

Slowly, Junhui pushes himself forward until he’s standing in front of him. His hands clench and unclench at his sides, like he’s afraid to touch Seungcheol. “You said I’d have to wait another month.” His voice is a faint croak, eyes searching Seungcheol’s desperately. “Fucking liar.”

Seungcheol feels himself smile. “Love you too, honey.”

They’re hugging before he can register it, brain shutting down as soon as Junhui is pressed against his chest. Junhui makes a small noise and fists the material of Seungcheol’s shirt uniform in one hand, the other cradling the back of his head, fingertips sliding under his beanie. Seungcheol buries his face in the crook of Junhui’s shoulder and inhales by the lungful, arms tight around his waist. He smells like sweat and anise, skin warm on Seungcheol’s cheek _._

“Are you crying?” he asks after Junhui’s third sniffle.

“Get over yourself,” Junhui says weakly. “My nose is just runny from the cold.” He sniffles again and holds Seungcheol tighter.

“Right, right.” He presses a kiss to the slick skin of Junhui’s neck, revels in the soft shudder it earns him.

Junhui shoves his shoulder as best as he can. “Shut up. God, just shut up.” 

Seungcheol laughs, insides fizzling out of his body until he’s empty and floating on air, only kept from flying away by the weight of Junhui around him. Anchoring, steadying, _real._

:::

“He did great during the tour,” Yixing says once Junhui has left for the locker room to grab his things. “I have videos of his solo performances, if you haven’t seen it.”

Seungcheol nods quickly. “Send me everything.”

Yixing huffs a laugh. “Of course. He made a few vlogs of the restaurants we went to; I’ll send those, too. Just don’t say anything about them—he got embarrassed and stopped recording them after New Zealand.”

He wishes he could have been there in person, been able to encourage Junhui to do what makes him happy. Regret sits like a stone in his stomach. “Alright.”

Yixing must understand the look on his face, because he rubs a hand over Seungcheol’s shoulder, smiling. “He missed you, too. Who do you think he made those vlogs for in the first place? Me?”

“Oh.” Seungcheol’s face warms. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright,” Yixing insists. “I thought it was sweet, I didn’t mind at all. He needed the distraction.”

Seungcheol frowns. “Was he okay?”

Something inside him shrinks at the way Yixing hesitates.

“I think…” He looks out into the rink for the right words to say. “We were gone for three months; homesickness eventually gets to everyone, but he just didn’t let himself have time for it. He was always practicing or helping the younger skaters or watching language study videos. I’ve never seen him work so hard to perfect his routines. The training paid off, and he had fun but,” Yixing smiles sadly. “I don’t think he wanted to admit he had different motivations for joining than everyone else.”

Seungcheol thinks about every phone call he had with Junhui, the fear that clawed at his throat when another soldier was nearby while Junhui was talking. Junhui has always been soft-spoken yet somewhere along the line his words became loud like bombs, _I miss you_ no longer a hidden meaning but a declaration of war.

At first, Seungcheol couldn’t understand why Junhui never visited him. He never asked because a part of him needed Junhui to stay away, needed to keep Junhui a secret. If Seungcheol had him close, everyone would have known. _Mine_. _He is mine, I am his._ He’s never been too good at hiding his feelings, but Junhui, sweet, shining Junhui—

Junhui would rather swallow cement than say what’s on his mind and give weight to his thoughts, give it the power of a name. Of course he would do something like this. It always comes back to skating for him, doesn’t it?

Yixing stands up to grab his water bottle and notebook. When he turns back to Seungcheol, his expression is relaxed again, cheerful. “We’ll celebrate your welcome back after Junhui’s had his time with you, alright? My treat. And tell him I’m giving him the day off tomorrow—he’ll gut me with those skates if I make him wake up early after whatever you two rabbits do today.”

Seungcheol doesn’t have it in him right now to feel embarrassed, gratitude coating his gums when he speaks. “Thank you, hyung, for everything. For taking care of him.”

“Any time,” Yixing beams, sending him a small wave before walking out.

Seungcheol grabs his duffle bag and slings it over his shoulder, sighing as he stands up. The rink is quiet for a few minutes, the buzz of air conditioning his only music while his eyes trace the scratched marks of chipped ice like they’re palm lines. He hears footsteps drawing closer, light and quick, so he turns around. He opens his mouth to say, _r_ _eady?_ Except Junhui doesn’t give him the chance, slamming into him and caging him against the dasher board before crashing their mouths together.

It reminds Seungcheol of their first kiss—sloppy and fumbling, two barely-adults tangled together under a tree and discovering that adrenaline and want can have a taste. Mint and sugar, salt where lip meets skin. It’s been two years; there will be bumps in the road, inconsistencies that must be smoothed out, but there is a thrill in that, too.

Their next kiss is better. Seungcheol drags him closer by the waist and licks into his mouth greedily, fingers burning when they slide under Junhui’s jacket and thumb at his flesh. Junhui opens for him with an ease that makes Seungcheol sigh, heart jackknifing when Junhui curls one hand into his collar to tug him impossibly closer and the other cups his jaw, holding him in place.

The dasher board is digging into Seungcheol’s back, and Junhui’s lips are freezing, and anyone could walk in and see them, but all the blood in his body has turned into magma, warm and heavy and _devastating_.

“Love you,” Junhui mumbles against his mouth. They’re not quite kissing anymore, just sharing air and heat. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I—” Seungcheol has to breathe, has to think, has to _function_ , but everything is spinning _._ “Junnie.”

Junhui pulls away just enough to look at him, something raw in his gaze, mouth set in a firm line. The hand on his jaw trembles. “You’re not leaving me ever again.” It should sound like a threat, Seungcheol knows this, but Junhui just sounds broken. There is glass in his voice, jagged and fragile. It cuts just as deep as a blade. “Got it?”

Seungcheol circles a hand around Junhui’s wrists and brings them to his mouth, gently kissing his pulse points before dragging his lips up to his palms. Junhui stares at him with stars in his eyes—Seungcheol sees Castor and Pollux waiting for a promised eternity, the earth their sacrifice. It is a different kind of love, but he gets it. _He gets it._

“I’m right here,” he murmurs into Junhui’s hands, nosing at the faint beat of life in his left wrist. Seungcheol turns his hand around and presses a fleeting kiss to the knuckle of his ring finger. “Yours and only yours. Do you honestly think I will ever remember how to live without you? Does life not end after death?”

His own words stun him a little, eyes widening the second he hears the open truth in his tone. But it’s just that—truth, lightning on stone, etched permanence. Like lightning, it strikes him that he wants to marry Junhui. Needs to. He has half a mind of dropping to one knee right here.

He lets Junhui press him against the tempered glass for a kiss instead, hands locked together.

:::

Junhui heads straight for the shower once they’re home. _Home_ feels foreign on Seungcheol’s tongue. Nothing has changed in their apartment, everything is right where he remembers it, but the concept of this space being his, _theirs,_ is a shift. He is angry he has lost this comfort.

 _This is yours,_ he has to remind himself as he looks at the picture frames on the wall. Next to the mirror, there is a photo of Seungcheol with Junhui’s mother, the two sitting at the dinner table and peeling potatoes, from the first time Junhui took him to Shenzhen. Junhui was the one who took the photo, laughing so hard from Seungcheol’s whines about the potatoes being too hot that he made the camera shake, blurring everything at the edges. 

Seungcheol doesn’t bother unpacking; he shoves the duffle bag onto a shelf in the closet, tucked behind Junhui’s winter blankets. His side of the closet is still messy compared to the careful coordination of Junhui’s. He grabs the first jacket he sees and changes out of his shirt, does the same with whatever sweatpants he finds in the dresser. He shuts the closet door and feels a little more human with each step.

It takes ten minutes of scrolling through the tv guide to realize he doesn’t know what’s on anymore. He considers searching for reruns but settles for a mystery drama. The episode’s already halfway in and someone probably important just got killed. Well then.

“I can look for something on Netflix,” Junhui says from behind him. He walks into view a second later, toweling his hair dry as he stands next to the coffee table. He’s practically drowning in the dark blue hoodie he has on, the thing nearly reaching mid-thigh and hiding his hands. Junhui wrinkles his nose at the screen. “I tried watching that. Horrible writing.”

Seungcheol holds out the remote with a scoff. “You own the entire SpongeBob series on blu-ray, you really want to talk about horrible writing?”

“SpongeBob’s a cinematic masterpiece and I’ll kick you out if you say otherwise.” Junhui snatches the remote out of his hand, glaring pointedly, but then his expression pinches. “You’re still wearing the beanie?”

“Oh.” He scratches the back of his head. “Um, yeah.”

“Why?”

Seungcheol tries for a shrug. It could pass for nonchalant if he would actually look Junhui in the eye. “My hair’s really short.”

Junhui is silent for a second then joins him on the sofa, legs pressed against Seungcheol’s. There is no space between them as he skims his fingers over the beanie, humming a random tune. He pulls it off carefully and tilts his head to catch Seungcheol’s flitting gaze, grinning a moment later. “I need to take a picture of you later to send to your mom, she'll love it.”

“I hate you,” Seungcheol groans, burying his face in his hands.

“But you look so cute,” Junhui giggles. He wraps his arms around Seungcheol’s shoulders, kisses the skin below his flushed ear. “Like a little baby penguin.”

“Off,” he grumbles as he pushes Junhui away.

Junhui stubbornly clings on, still smiling when he kisses Seungcheol’s pouting lips. “I’m serious! You look fine.”

“Yixing said I look like hell.”

“Yes, well, _I’m_ the one you get to bend over and fuck, so who has more say in your validation?” He accepts the smack to his elbow graciously, snickering at Seungcheol's flustered whine. Junhui lifts his feet off the floor to fold his legs in front of himself but winces halfway through the movement, a low hiss escaping his mouth.

Seungcheol has a hand on his knee in an instant. “What’s wrong? Did you fall today?”

Junhui shakes his head. “No, just muscle aches.”

“Where?”

“Um, my thighs? And maybe—” Junhui motions to his calves and pauses, hesitant, then gestures to his entire body. “Maybe everywhere.”

His eyes narrow. “How long have you been letting your muscles get stiff?”

Junhui tries not to wilt under his glare. “I’d give myself massages sometimes, in my defense.” He whines when Seungcheol flicks his chin.

“You’re hopeless,” Seungcheol sighs as he stands up, palm extended towards Junhui. “Alright, come on.”

Junhui tilts his head, eyes darting away briefly. “Uh—?”

“I’ll give you a massage in bed so you can lie down properly," he says.

"Oh, the perks of dating a fitness trainer." Junhui takes his offered hand and lets himself be pulled up to his feet, lacing their fingers together when Seungcheol starts to pull away. "Carry me?"

Seungcheol raises a brow at Junhui's sweet smile. "You didn't have a problem walking before this."

"Consider this a physical assessment." He doesn't bother hiding how he runs his eyes over Seungcheol's body. "I need to make sure you're still up to my standards."

Seungcheol shoots him an unimpressed look but still caves in, hands hooking under his ass and hoisting him up without much effort. He's always liked how small Junhui can make himself in times like these. "Do you realize how much you sound like a crappy porno intro right now?"

Junhui wraps around him easily, purring like a fucking cat as he nuzzles their cheeks together, the sound a low vibration against Seungcheol's chest. "That was intentional, yes," he murmurs, pressing wet kisses to any exposed skin he can reach. "We should buy a massage table, oh and some oils, too. That'd be great for the opening scene. I’d be all pretty face-down on the table, naked and waiting for you to—"

"How long have you been thinking about this?" Seungcheol laughs. His steps falter when he feels teeth sinking into a spot under his jaw. "Junnie."

"Way too long." His voice is grave, like he's genuinely been hurt by this. “We did _not_ take enough nudes of you before you left, oh my god, I had no _material.”_

Seungcheol just shakes his head and grins. He gives Junhui's butt a light pat as they enter their bedroom. "Poor baby."

Junhui glares at him for a second before leaning in for a kiss, prying Seungcheol's mouth open with his tongue and swallowing his choked gasp. Seungcheol stumbles forward blindly until his knees bump into the mattress, setting Junhui down and lying on top of him. Junhui pulls Seungcheol flush against him and sighs into his mouth, hips bucking up without warning.

Seungcheol groans at the sudden friction, fingers digging into Junhui's thighs. If he doesn’t stop him now, they’ll never get anything done. It hurts him to pull away. "Not yet, massage first."

Junhui lets his head fall back with a wounded noise. "I have waited _two years_ for you, Choi Seungcheol. Two years without your dick in me. I deserve at the very _least_ to have my ass ate right now, and you're not even considering it."

"Trust me—" Seungcheol slides his hands up Junhui's legs to his ass and squeezes, gut coiling at the gasp it earns him. "I already have."

"But—"

Seungcheol shushes him with a kiss, more tongue and teeth than anything. It leaves Junhui panting when he separates to whisper low into his ear, "I want you sore _after_ I fuck you, baby, not before. Just let me take care of you, yeah?"

“You’re a menace,” Junhui says weakly, eyes fluttering when Seungcheol nips at his earlobe and tugs. “Fine, fine, just— Stop touching my ass, dammit, I’m trying to _think.”_

Fondness is a warm sun in his chest. “That’s my boy.” He lets go of Junhui and sits up straight. “Where do you want me to start?”

“Legs,” Junhui answers immediately. “Definitely legs. But be careful with my right knee, I hit it last week.”

“Bad bruise?”

“Kinda.” Junhui scoots off the bed and pushes off his sweatpants, climbing back on and sitting with his knees in front of him. He points to a fading mark right next to his knee and says something but Seungcheol isn’t paying attention, too busy staring at the curve of Junhui’s thighs, toned from years of sacrifice on the rink.

Junhui splays a large hand across his thigh, slender fingers not quite long enough to wrap around the whole thing. Seungcheol’s breath catches in his throat.

“Are you even listening?”

Seungcheol swallows thickly, ears burning. He waits a moment before speaking but his voice still comes out strained. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did what?” Junhui tilts his head innocently. The dark glint in his eyes is what gives him away. “Would you have me position myself another way?”

“Just lie down,” Seungcheol grumbles. He finally tears his gaze away from Junhui’s thighs and points to the empty side of the bed. “And you call _me_ the menace.”

Junhui presses a quick kiss to the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth, mumbles a soft _you’re cute_ to the skin there as he pulls away. He’s smiling when he lays down, face pressed into a pillow. “Is this fine?”

Seungcheol takes a minute to stare at Junhui’s legs again—with how he’s positioned, Junhui’s hoodie covers his ass completely, making it look like he’s wearing nothing underneath.

He’s not willing to challenge himself today. “Turn around.”

Thankfully Junhui doesn’t question him, but his smug smirk when he adjusts himself is telling enough. He spreads his legs apart and pats the space between them. “I’m all yours.”

“Shut _up_ already.” Seungcheol ignores Junhui’s delighted laughter as he moves over, focusing instead on pressing his fingers into the flesh of his left thigh.

It’s a slow process—Seungcheol is careful to observe which spots make him wince or sigh and spends extra time there, hands firm where the muscle is especially tough. Junhui tries to roll away once Seungcheol makes his way down to his calf, arms coming up to cover his eyes with a groan.

“This was supposed to be _sexy,_ not _torture,”_ he cries out, hissing when Seungcheol finds a new knot.

“It’s your own fault,” Seungcheol scolds him. “You shouldn’t have let your muscles get this stiff. I have no idea how you went so long without saying anything about it.”

Junhui drops his arms and tries for a smile, eyes twinkling. “You know I have a high pain tolerance.” Seungcheol digs his fingers into the round bump of his calf and holds, expression smug when Junhui mewls. “Okay— _okay,_ I’m sorry, no more sex jokes!”

Seungcheol lets go and shakes his head, frowning. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t try to get massages. You know Yixing would’ve found you someone to do it if you didn’t want to learn.” Junhui mumbles something under his breath, muffled into the fabric of his hood. “What?”

“I didn’t want anyone else touching me,” he repeats, cheeks flushing lightly. He won’t meet Seungcheol’s gaze. The sudden shyness sends a pang of guilt down his spine. “I knew how to do my feet and neck, but the rest, I— I did stretches, went to hot springs.”

“Baby,” Seungcheol pauses his ministrations. “You must’ve been in so much pain.”

Junhui plays with the ends of his sleeves, biting his lip for a second. “I had other things on my mind.”

He thinks back to what Yixing told him earlier. “Did you— You were never interested in the touring shows, before I left. But then you signed up for four. Why is that?”

“I wanted a change of pace,” he says, shrugging.

“Not a distraction?” Junhui tenses slightly in his hold. Seungcheol feels a weight press in his stomach. “Jun.”

Junhui covers his face with his hands and takes a stuttering breath, like he’s inhaling shrapnel. “This place was so _empty_ without you, Seungcheol. I couldn’t stand it. At first, I just stayed at Minghao and Wonwoo’s place but I— They just were so happy together, it only made it worse. A-And skating gave me something to focus on, so when Yixing said there was an opening for a winter tour, I just—” He presses a palm to his mouth and shudders. "I just needed to get out of here."

“Junnie, hey—” Seungcheol wraps a hand around his wrists and tugs them away gently. In the years that he’s known Junhui, he has only seen him cry a handful of times. It doesn’t take much to hurt him, but it _does_ take a lot for him to show it, and even more for him to acknowledge it. Junhui’s not crying but he’s well on his way, bottom lip wobbling and breath shortening to rapid gasps for air.

A knife slices its way down Seungcheol’s heart, peeling back the muscle layer by layer. “Oh, Junnie.”

Junhui links their hands together and looks up at the ceiling, eyes blinking rapidly. His palm is clammy against Seungcheol’s.“I was so scared that if I visited you,” he whispers, “I wouldn’t be able to leave, that they’d have to drag me out. I share my bed, my home, my life with you; when you are gone, there is only a shadow in your place, and it is terrifying.”

Seungcheol breathes in through his nose, chest tight with too many words he wants to say. He grips Junhui’s hands tighter and rubs circles into the smooth skin, raises them to his lips to kiss each knuckle, a reassurance and recompense. “I thought of you every day, you know.”

“Yeah?” Junhui asks, relief in his voice, like he really needs the confirmation.

“Yeah.” He leans forward and kisses the spot over Junhui’s chest where his heart is. “I already told you; I’m right here. So please stop thinking I’m going to disappear. Just let me back in, Jun.”

Junhui makes a small noise before dragging Seungcheol up for a kiss, hands steady on his nape. Seungcheol holds his waist and kisses him back slowly, desperation easing into something gentle and warm and fuck, he's _missed this_.

When Seungcheol pulls away a while later, Junhui is smiling again. “Okay, you can keep going with your death rubs.”

Seungcheol shoves his shoulder, chest lighter now. “You’re ridiculous.” He starts on Junhui’s other calf, working his way up this time. Junhui doesn’t voice another complaint, mainly silent aside from the random noise of discomfort when Seungcheol presses his fingers somewhere especially painful.

“Are you going to do more show tours?” he asks eventually, breaking the peaceful silence.

Junhui tilts his head. He doesn’t really look surprised by his question. “Do you want me to?”

“I want you to be happy,” He finishes with Junhui’s calf and slides his hands up to his thigh. “So I’ll support whatever decision you decide on. I just don’t want you to limit yourself because of me—and I’d prefer if your choice didn’t involve unhealthy coping mechanisms like muscle stiffness and emotional repression.”

“I was _not_ emotionally repressed,” Junhui scoffs. “I whined to Yixing every day about how much I missed sitting on you.”

“You mean my lap?”

“That too.”

“Remind me to buy the poor man a beer,” Seungcheol sighs. “I have no idea how he hasn’t quit being your coach yet.”

Junhui wiggles his eyebrows, curling one of the hoodie’s drawstrings around his finger. “Nobody can say no to a pretty gemini.”

“You don’t even _know_ anything about zodiac signs, you pos—” Seungcheol blinks, hands stilling on Junhui's thigh. _Hang on._ "Is that— Are you wearing my hoodie?"

He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, probably just too distracted by Junhui to stop and think about what he’s wearing. But now that he’s actually _looking_ , he can see how good his old Speedhunters hoodie looks on Junhui. His eyes travel back down to where the hoodie meets bare thigh, no visible sign of underwear underneath. Something slams to a halt in his head.

“What?” Junhui’s gaze flicks down to his— _Seungcheol’s_ —hoodie, confusion shifting into realization. He rubs a palm over the back of his neck and laughs, flustered. “Oh. I didn’t notice. I just grabbed the first thing from my hangers when I walked in, sorry.”

Seungcheol’s pulled out of his thoughts in slow motion, eyes blinking at half speed. “Your hangers…” He fights down the bubble of hysteria that threatens to spill out of him, makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Have you been wearing my clothes?”

Junhui flushes and—seriously, _what the fuck_. “They smelled like you,” he mumbles, hands fiddling with the end of the hoodie and tugging it lower down his legs. Seungcheol has to make a conscious effort not to stop him. “A-And you know I hate doing laundry—”

“It’s fine.” Seungcheol knows how he sounds but he is beyond caring right now, brain fogging with a burning want that has him feeling light headed and weighted all at once. “I’m not— Y-You look— _God_ , you—”

Junhui sits up slowly to see how Seungcheol stares at his bare limbs. “You like this.” 

He doesn’t phrase it as a question, and Seungcheol doesn’t bother denying it, nodding numbly.

Junhui hums, expression unreadable. It sends a thrill up Seungcheol’s spine. Nothing prepares him for Junhui climbing onto his lap, legs locking around his hips and hands sliding up his shoulders. Junhui guides one of Seungcheol’s hands underneath his hoodie to rest on the waistband of his boxers, palm dangerously close to his cock. An open invitation.

He smiles at the choked sound Seungcheol makes, leaning forward so their lips brush when he speaks.

“Gonna fuck me like this, hyung?”

Seungcheol groans and threads a hand in Junhui’s hair to tug his head back, grip unforgiving. He kisses along the exposed column of his neck aimlessly, sucking a mark right below his jaw, impossible to hide, and licking a stripe back down to bite at the soft flesh next to his adam’s apple. Junhui makes a beautiful noise.

“I’d like to do a lot of things to you,” Seungcheol murmurs, tongue laving over the bruise he’s left on Junhui’s jugular. He moves the hand he has on Junhui’s underwear down to his ass, trails a finger over his clothed entrance before squeezing the whole cheek. Junhui shudders against him. “In you or full of you, I don’t really care. But you’re not taking that off until I see your come on it.”

Junhui whines, breath hitching when Seungcheol drags him closer by the waist so their hips are connected. Like this, he can easily feel the length of Junhui’s cock rub against his own, the thin material of Junhui’s briefs doing nothing to act as a barrier. “ _Seungcheol_.” He sounds like he’s been punched.

There’s something horribly satisfying about that.

Affection settles in his veins like a blanket, warm and heady. Seungcheol has to stop for a moment to kiss Junhui on the mouth and it feels like the world is shifting back into place, the tide finally meeting the shore. He pulls back after one last peck, smiling at Junhui's dazed expression. “What do you want?”

He curls a hand around the back of Seungcheol’s head, possessive yet reverent, and kisses his cheek. Seungcheol is half-hard in his sweats.

“Wanna ride you so bad,” Junhui whispers, fingers branding trails of fire on his skin. He noses at his jaw, smiling. “Hmm?”

Seungcheol’s so _in love_ with him.

“Yes.” He’s nodding before Junhui even finishes talking. “God, yes, you— Fuck, Junnie, please—”

He grunts when Junhui slots their lips together, head spinning at the languid thrust of his tongue. Junhui slips a hand beneath his jacket and hums at the way Seungcheol's abdomen flexes under his touch, traces the outline of hardened muscles with a single finger.

“I need you naked already,” Junhui breaks away to pant out. “I want to see you.”

Seungcheol just smiles. “Getting impatient?” He laughs at Junhui’s pointed glare, buries his own guilt by pressing a quick kiss to his forehead and unzipping his jacket. “Sorry, sorry.”

Junhui grumbles faintly under his breath before yanking Seungcheol’s jacket off his body and pushing him down to the mattress, leaning over him with a hungry look in his eyes. He straddles him as if it were his birthright and rolls his hips viciously, the curve of his ass a firm weight on Seungcheol’s length.

“Oh, _fuck—_ ” It’s like there’s water in his ears, mind knocked off balance as all his senses drown out everything that isn’t Junhui grinding their hips together, Junhui sucking bruises into his collar bones, Junhui kissing his belly button with a fond smile, _Junhui, Junhui, Junhui._

“You’re shaking, Cheollie,” Junhui says after licking Seungcheol’s nipples to his satisfaction. He starts trailing down his abs with open-mouthed kisses, the wet heat of his tongue turning him into jelly.

“Jun _,”_ Seungcheol hisses at the sudden sting of teeth on his hip bone. He grabs Junhui by the hair on his nape and yanks him up, barely registering his surprised gasp before crashing their mouths together and slipping a thigh between his legs.

Junhui responds immediately, eyes fluttering close at the sudden change in friction on his cock. His mouth falls open with a silent moan when Seungcheol starts to slide his thigh back and forth against him, quickly falling into a rough rhythm.

 _He’s already hard,_ Seungcheol thinks deliriously as he watches Junhui rut against his thigh for all he’s worth. He considers letting Junhui come like that, the idea of getting him to orgasm before he’s even removed his underwear probably one of the hottest things ever, but he has plans for tonight.

Oh well. Another day then.

“Junnie,” Seungcheol calls, to no avail. “Junnie, come on.” Junhui merely grunts in response, a breathy huff that quickly turns into a moan when he finds a better angle to grind into. Seungcheol has to close his eyes and pause for a moment, swallowing down his emotions before grabbing Junhui’s shoulders. “ _Jun.”_

Junhui whimpers at the loss of contact, hips stuttering in the air to seek any sort of friction as he falls back on his haunches. Seungcheol feels his authority weaken just a bit at the glassy, desperate look in his eyes. “S-Sorry, I just— You feel—”

Seungcheol shakes his head and kisses the corner of his mouth, rubs his waist soothingly. “It’s okay, I get it.” He swipes a thumb over Junhui’s bottom lip, wiping away the little bits of drool starting to gather there. Junhui leans into his touch and some clarity returns to his eyes. It makes him feel strangely emotional. “Why don’t you go grab what we need, hm?”

His expression brightens instantly, hair flopping when he nods and crawls away to open the nightstand. Junhui tosses the lube onto the mattress and turns his head back to look at Seungcheol, who’s busy staring at the new view of his ass. “Condom?”

“Whatever you want.” He moves forward and runs a hand over the inside of Junhui’s thighs, kisses the burning skin before grabbing his briefs and yanking them down to pool at his bent knees. Junhui gasps. “We might make a mess, though.”

Junhui mewls colorful expletives when Seungcheol grabs one cheek in each hand and spreads them apart to run the flat of his tongue over his fluttering hole, arms giving out and nearly braining himself on the nightstand if it wasn’t for Seungcheol dragging him back by the waist.

“Fuck, what the fuck,” he starts. “ _Seungcheol._ ”

“I’m going to need you to decide quickly,” Seungcheol says against his skin, grinning. “I don’t have all day.”

“Oh my god, you fucking asshole—”

Seungcheol interrupts with another strong lick and Junhui groans into the sheets. “That's not _my_ title.”

“Okay,” Junhui pants weakly. “I set myself up for that one.” He’s silent for a moment, contemplative, then shakes his head. “No condom. Need to feel you come inside me.”

Seungcheol swears and pulls Junhui up to him, chest pressed to his clothed back. He plants a kiss on his sweaty nape. “You’re gonna be the death of me someday,” he groans.

Junhui shifts enough so he can kiss him. It’s hot and messy and when Junhui pulls him closer, Seungcheol can feel the press of his hanging dick hidden behind his hoodie.

“Love you,” Junhui gasps when they separate, chest heaving. “Love you so much. God, I need you in me already.”

“I love you too.” Seungcheol thumbs his cheekbone and kisses the mole dotting it. “Lie down for me, okay?”

Junhui holds onto Seungcheol’s bicep while he pulls his underwear the rest of the way off and flings it somewhere behind him. He maneuvers around to lay down on the center of the bed and hikes his hoodie up his narrow waist, his dick sitting fat on his belly. A soft sigh spills from his lips as starts stroking himself lazily, hips snapping up when he thumbs at the flushed head.

Seungcheol chokes on nothing. “Oh my _god.”_

“Something on your mind, hyung?” Junhui asks, lashes fluttering. He’s not quite smiling, but the smugness is there, dripping from every syllable, deliberate in how he looks Seungcheol in the eye as he hurries his pace. “This _is_ what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Jun—” His words die in his throat when Junhui moans, the sound ringing in his ears and signalling his fried brain to get a _fucking_ _grip_ already. Seungcheol kicks off his sweats and underwear in a sweep of uncoordinated limbs then climbs back onto the bed, right between Junhui’s legs. He pries Junhui’s hand away from his dick to replace it with his own, leaning forward to mouth at the head and lap up the precum.

Junhui keens beneath him, hands fisting his hoodie. “Seungcheol, I swear if you don’t—”

Seungcheol pops open the lube and squirts a tiny amount right over his rim, grinning at the way it immediately clenches around nothing. Junhui gasps somewhere above him. “If I don’t what?” He runs his tongue along the underside of his dick before working his first finger in, kisses the inside of his thighs when Junhui cries out. “This _is_ what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Don’t you _dare_ use my own words against me, you— oh, oh _f-fuck_ —” He clenches around Seungcheol’s finger instantly, rocking back with each thrust. Seungcheol opens him carefully, pace slow but never once stopping, gentle in and out, in and out. “Cheollie, please.”

“You’re so tight.” Seungcheol has to rest his forehead on Junhui’s hip for a moment to catch his breath, reign in his thoughts. 

“It’s been a while,” Junhui rasps out. “Couldn’t— Wasn’t the same without you there.”

“Is that why you started wearing my clothes, baby?” he asks softly before slipping in a second finger. “Imagined I was the one making you feel good?”

Junhui whimpers at the stretch, mouth falling open when Seungcheol crooks his fingers. “Y-Yes. It— _ah_ —wasn’t as good with the toys after a while, a-and— You're a great fuck, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

Seungcheol huffs out a laugh, stupidly endeared. “Maybe we really should’ve done your porn film idea. Make the memory last longer.” It was just meant as a joke, but his laughter immediately dies in his throat when he feels Junhui clench around him even tighter. He lifts his head to look at him. “Oh.”

A flush colors Junhui’s face from the tips of his ears all the way past his neckline, pupils blown wide and chest starting to heave with effort. Junhui swallows and Seungcheol eyes the movement of his bobbing adam’s apple hungrily, gasoline pooling in his gut and burning him from the inside out.

“Is that it?” Seungcheol leans down to kiss Junhui’s ear, mouth aerial on the burning skin. He presses in the third finger as soon as he finds his prostate and holds. “You want to be fucked into the mattress with a camera on, so you can go back and watch it later and hear how pretty you sound when you’re coming? So you can see what you look like when you’re full of me?”

Junhui’s body _spasms._ He grabs Seungcheol by the neck and kisses him breathless, back arching and hips bucking up in time with his probing hand. A moan tumbles from his lips whenever his dick brushes against Seungcheol’s stomach.

“Ready, ‘m ready,” he babbles, nails digging into Seungcheol’s shoulders. “Fuck, Seungcheol please—”

Seungcheol sits up and pulls his fingers out carefully, barely having time to slick himself with lube before Junhui pushes him to lay back against the pillows and climbs on top of him. He hisses when Junhui grabs his cock and pumps it a few times, slow and tentative. Junhui is careful as he guides the head to his entrance but Seungcheol still swears, hands shooting up to grip his thighs.

Then Junhui looks at him, hooded eyes twinkling, and sinks himself down in one smooth roll of hips that has Seungcheol seeing stars.

His brain registers everything in intervals: the heat surrounding him, the tightness, the obscene squelch of lube and slapping skin, Junhui’s fractured moans. There is fire in every nerve ending in his body, but what really makes him choke up and go dizzy with want is Junhui leaning forward to kiss him sweetly, hands cupping his face.

He almost asks Junhui, right there, to marry him—would have, too, if it weren’t for Junhui punching a groan out of him with a hard roll of his hips. His ears burn in embarrassment and he mentally kicks himself. _N_ _ot the time._

“This is so much nicer than a vibrator,” Junhui pants, head tipping back as he slams himself down. “I’d almost forgotten how big you are.”

"Charming," Seungcheol chuckles, thumbs rubbing circles into Junhui’s skin. “Was that how you usually got yourself off?”

Junhui shakes his head, eyes slipping close. “I’d ride a dildo sometimes, w-with your clothes on, blindfolded. Pretended you were right behind me, watching me. I always came just when I thought you were going to touch me.”

He can see it so clearly, Junhui fucking himself on their bed, his fingers crammed up his ass, whispering Seungcheol’s name into a pillow as he leaks a puddle on one of his old track shirts— _“Fuck.”_

“I’d pretend you were waiting to reward me,” he continues, voice tapering off into a moan at the end when Seungcheol snaps his hips up. “Did everything I could think of to please you. Just wanted to—oh, _there_ , right there—to show you I could be g-good.”

Seungcheol groans, skin on fire as he watches Junhui desperately work himself on his cock. He pours lube onto his hand then shoves it under his hoodie, wrapping it around Junhui’s dick and jerking him off in time with his frantic pace, the slide easy. Junhui nearly falls over with a ragged whimper, thighs twitching and chest heaving.

“You’re perfect,” Seungcheol marvels, free hand coming up to squeeze Junhui’s ass. “God, I love you like this, baby. If only you could see yourself.”

Junhui’s hips start to stutter, his movements erratic like he can’t decide where to fuck up into. “Film me next time.”

Seungcheol nods and tightens his hold on Junhui’s dick by a fraction. “Next time,” he promises, voice rough. “I’ll blindfold you and tie you up to the headboard, all pretty for the camera. Gonna fuck you until you cry, then make you watch the video just like that, so you won’t be able to touch while you watch yourself.”

Shudders travel down Junhui’s body in violent waves, each exhale a choked whine forced out through bitten red lips. "S-Seungcheol, _please,_ I need— n-need to—"

Seungcheol pushes himself up with his free arm, meets Junhui in an open-mouthed kiss of tongue and teeth, nail digging into the slit of his cockhead.

“Come for me,” Seungcheol whispers, and Junhui does, all over his hoodie.

It’s always been fascinating for Seungcheol to see Junhui like this. His body instantly slumps down, head fitting itself in the crook of Seungcheol’s neck and breath coming out in harsh pants. Junhui fists a hand into the bedding as Seungcheol keeps working him through his orgasm, hips chasing weakly after his fist with a weak cry. 

Seungcheol lets go once he feels Junhui shifting against him, smiles when he hears a blissful sigh of his name. He presses a kiss to the crown of his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, breath fanning across Seungcheol’s skin. “Better than okay.” Junhui pulls back enough to run his fingers through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands away from his face with a grin. “You’d make for a great pornstar.”

Laughter pours out of him like water, light and fluid. “Shut up,” he says, shoving his shoulder half-heartedly. “You’re the one who’s into that stuff.”

Junhui wraps his arms around Seungcheol’s neck, kissing a path up to his jaw. “Because I’m a man of taste. And I’m already willing to be one. Porn’s been my backup career plan since junior high.” He pulls back slightly, eyes bright. “We could have matching pornstar names! Like, the Swallows or—”

Seungcheol has to muffle his laughter in Junhui’s hair. “Oh my god.”

“I’m serious! I want domesticity.”

“I know.” Seungcheol tilts Junhui’s chin up to slot their mouths together. “You’re just really cute.”

Junhui smiles against his lips, sliding his hands to frame Seungcheol’s face when the kiss deepens. The ends of his sleeves are pressed against Seungcheol’s cheek, heating his skin and reminding him that Junhui’s come is on that hoodie, white painting over black.

The loosening coil in his gut suddenly tightens again. Junhui shivers in his hold, tries to hide it by sucking a hickey into the smooth skin of his throat.

He almost wouldn’t mind staying like this—almost, because he’s still achingly hard and seated in Junhui’s ass.

“Can you keep going?” Seungcheol pulls away to ask, mind starting to cloud over again. Junhui clenches around his cock and he groans, heat simmering below the surface.

“Yes,” Junhui rasps out, chasing after his lips, a little desperate. “God yes, fuck, you're still so hard, come on—”

Seungcheol lifts Junhui off of him and sets him down on the free side of the bed. Junhui sits up and strips himself of his hoodie, sighing when cool air meets his exposed skin. Seungcheol stops breathing for a second, taking in the lean muscles of his frame.

Junhui giggles, flashing Seungcheol a cheeky grin as he gets on his hands and knees. “What? They don’t have pretty boys in the army?”

“Nobody like you.” Seungcheol settles behind him and squeezes his hips. He trails open-mouthed kisses up Junhui’s spine, biting bruises into his skin just to leave a physical reminder. “You’re beautiful, baby, absolutely perfect.”

A shudder rips through Junhui’s body, back arching and tensing. "Just get _in me_ already, Seungcheol, please.”

Seungcheol sighs, smirking as he presses one more kiss to his shoulder. "Now how can I say no to you?"

He sinks back in easily, cock burying itself all the way in one smooth slide. Junhui trembles beneath him, head hanging between his shoulders with a fractured whimper. His breath hitches when Seungcheol draws almost all the way out, already panting, then spasms once he thrusts back in.

“Oh, _fuck._ ”

Seungcheol loses himself in Junhui’s tight heat, fucking into him hard enough that the bed shakes every time their bodies meet. “Aren’t you glad we bought those headboard stoppers when we moved here? No more noise complaints from neighbors.”

Junhui’s arms begin to shake. “Ch- Cheol—”

“You _can_ keep your voice down, right, baby?” Seungcheol kisses the space between his shoulder blades, loving despite the merciless slam of his hips. “You can behave yourself?”

“Yes,” Junhui moans, hiccuping when Seungcheol grazes his prostate. “I’ll behave, I’ll d-do whatever you want. I’ll be good.”

Seungcheol beams, mumbles a soft, “Good boy,” into his burning skin, then shoves him down right where he left his last kiss, between his shoulders. Junhui’s arms give out instantly and he falls face first, groan muffled by the sheets. He lets himself be manhandled into a better position so that his ass is in the air, the rest of his body flat on the bed, cushioned with pillows.

Hands tight enough around Junhui’s hips to bruise, he doesn’t give any warning when he pushes back in, the new angle letting him thrust in deeper. Junhui hides his face in a pillow with a sob _,_ fingers curling around the fitted sheet so hard that it’s nearly yanked off one of the corners of the mattress. He hardly notices, only moans louder.

“God, I love you like this,,” Seungcheol sighs, heat thrumming in his veins as he watches Junhui fall apart under him. He’s grateful there’s no clothing covering him anymore; like this, Seungcheol can see how he thrashes when he fucks him just right, back muscles flexing under tan skin marked red and purple as he’s shoved up the mattress. “Love you every way possible. Thought of you every day, missed you so much it hurt.”

Junhui keens, legs spreading further apart to grind back into Seungcheol’s cock shamelessly. “Missed y-you too,” he cries out, sliding a hand down to pump his neglected cock. “Counted the days ‘til you’d come back, all I wanted was for you to come back home, b-back to me.”

Seungcheol drapes himself over Junhui’s back and reaches for his hand, pulling it away from his dick and lacing their fingers together to press it into the mattress. Junhui chokes out a high-pitched whimper, probably the filthiest thing Seungcheol's ever heard. Seungcheol kisses every inch of skin he can reach, never slowing his rhythm.

“You already have me,” he murmurs into Junhui's ear, squeezing their linked hands as he angles his hips better. “I’m right here, baby, can’t you feel me?”

“Everywhere,” Junhui nearly shouts, words starting to slur at the end. “Christ, you feel amazing, I’m s-so close, just a little more, _harder_ —”

Seungcheol gathers his remaining strength and pounds into him with renewed fervor, his world narrowing to just the tight suction of heat around him, and Junhui’s frantic _I love you, I love you, I love you_ —

He gives one last violent thrust, and then he’s coming, spilling in hot, thick spurts as stars swim in his vision, lungs void of air. Junhui follows a second later, screaming Seungcheol’s name into the pillow, holding onto his hand for dear life.

They stay like that for a few moments, both struggling to catch their breath, before Seungcheol starts fucking him gently through the aftershocks. His heart squeezes when Junhui helps by rocking himself back in time despite the overstimulation, whining beneath him every now and then. 

Seungcheol pulls out slowly, careful to not lean his weight on him. A dribble of come spills from Junuhi’s puffy rim once he’s all the way out, trailing down the inside of his thigh. Junhui sighs happily, body relaxing.

He presses a gentle kiss to Junhui’s temple then gets up. “I’ll be right back.”

Junhui only makes a slight grumble of protest. Good enough.

It’s quiet as Seungcheol heads for the bathroom, the only sound coming from the running faucet while he soaks a towel in warm water, silence again as he wipes himself down. Junhui's laying down properly when he returns, legs extended and arms folded under his head.

Seungcheol nudges him to roll over and Junhui complies lazily, flopping onto his back with a heavy sigh, a faint flush still on his cheeks. He doesn’t say much while Seungcheol cleans him, his responses limited to soft sighs and grunts, only wincing when Seungcheol rubs the towel over his ass.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Junhui mumbles, lashes fluttering. “And if you could get to the part of the aftercare where you kiss me, that’d be great.”

“I forgot how grumbly you get after sex.” Seungcheol tosses the towel onto his equally stainedhoodie to pick up later. "But it's cute, so I don't mind."

Junhui rolls his eyes, lips twitching to hold back a smile when Seungcheol lays down next to him. “You think everything I do is cute.”

Seungcheol hums, threading a hand in Junhui’s hair to bring him close, noses brushing. “With good reason.”

Junhui kisses him slowly, curling into the solid weight of Seungcheol’s body with a low exhale. He slides a hand up Seungcheol’s stomach, fingers dragging over his chest and neck until he reaches his jaw, palm cupping his chin. _Tenderly_ , Seungcheol notes, when a thumb rubs circles into his cheek as his head is tilted back for Junhui to deepen the kiss.

They’re too close to each other when they separate to breathe. Foreheads pressed together and their limbs are entangled, the lines of _him, me, us_ jumbling into one. Junhui’s still thumbing at his dimple, presses feather-light kisses all over his face just to keep him laughing.

Seungcheol has to push him away when Junhui tries to plant wet kisses over his eyelids, hiding his face in the pillows to muffle his giggles and shield himself. “Quit it.” It doesn’t come out stern like he wanted, more like a whine. His ears start to burn when he hears Junhui laugh fondly into his neck.

A while later, Junhui disrupts the silent atmosphere with a slow exhale. “You asked me earlier if I would want to keep doing tours,” he says, fingertips skittering up and down Seungcheol's waist. “I’m not sure. Well, it’s— I’m considering it. Not for right now, but maybe next fall. A-And, that’s if I even get in, there’s still auditioning, and travel fees, of course, plane tickets are always—”

“Hey.” Seungcheol kisses the top of his head and rubs a palm into the small of his back. He’ll keep rambling if Seungcheol doesn’t stop him. “You don’t have to have an answer right now. I just wanted to know if you were thinking about it.”

“And you wouldn’t mind, if I did decide I want to leave again?” His voice is steady, but his arm tenses around Seungcheol.

Seungcheol leans back so Junhui can’t hide his face, hooks a finger under his chin so they’re looking each other in the eye. “I’m never going to stop you from doing what you love. I’ll miss you, but seeing you out there makes up for it. We’ll be able to talk and video call whenever you’re free. We can make it work, so stop thinking this will be like when I left. We’re still together.” He taps his knuckles to Junhui’s heart. “Right here, okay?”

Junhui leans forward for another kiss, trembles when Seungcheol slips his tongue inside his mouth. It seems to help him though, body lax when Seungcheol pulls away. He traces Seungcheol’s jaw with the tip of his finger, gaze searching, open. Vulnerable. He’s beautiful. “I love you.”

They’ve said it thousands of times to each other by now, the words familiar like an old song. There is still a tornado in his stomach. “Love you too. Always.”

Sleep is starting to wash over Junhui, slowing his actions and softening his voice. Seungcheol can feel it hitting him too, fighting to keep his eyes open as his energy steadily seeps out of him.

“You still owe me a back massage, you know,” Junhui whispers, fitting his head under Seungcheol’s chin. “ _And_ I’m gonna need another shower.”

Seungcheol hugs him closer to his chest, grunts out a faint, “After. Nap first.”

“But—”

“Just one hour,” he pleads. “I’ll draw you a bath then give you a massage. Deal?”

Junhui hums. “I would’ve agreed as long as you let me shower first, you know. But this works, too.”

“Brat.” Seungcheol squeezes him tighter, painless but still enough to be felt.

Lips press against the hollow of his throat. “Alright, two hours. But you’re carrying me around for the rest of the day, I’m too sore.”

He scoffs, smiling despite himself. “Keep ordering me around, see if I don't leak one of our sex tapes online."

"Tag me when you do," Junhui laughs, snuggling deeper into his embrace. His breathing steadily evens out in the quiet of their room.

Seungcheol has almost drifted off when he catches three words whispered against his skin one last time, lulling him back to consciousness. He listens for anything else but is met with silence. He closes his eyes again and falls asleep listening to the sounds of Junhui’s snores.

**Author's Note:**

> not jun trying to imply he wants to get married through a conversation about pornstar names
> 
> it's so obvious i've never written smut before and i apologize for what homework procrastination has driven me to do. this is such a mess oh noodles
> 
> feel free to clown me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ahlovejun) bc i will most certainly be shitting on myself for the next month about whatever the fuck this fic is!!


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